In A Black And White World, Your True Colours Show
by WithoutAWord
Summary: What could have been going through Carla's mind at Frank's funeral?


_**A/N**__ I thought Frank's funeral scene was great; the dialogue was very understated, but that meant we as an audience could delve into the minds of the characters and piece together what they could be thinking. So this is just my version of what was going through Carla's head. I'm not so sure on the second half of this, but I hope it's not too bad. Reviews welcome and greatly appreciated as always, I hope you enjoy!_

As Carla stared at the coffin which concealed his rotting corpse, she thought she'd feel happier than she did. She had been so scared of him and what he would do next, and now he was finally gone she could breathe a sigh of relief that she wouldn't have to live in fear anymore. She wanted to take pleasure in knowing that he had got _exactly_ what he had deserved, but she couldn't bring herself to be so harsh.

The vicar spoke of how "our brother Frank" had been cruelly taken, but to Carla it was just noise; an inconvenient murmur. Funerals were a time where you commemorated the life of the deceased, and her mind was filled with memories of his presence. All the spiteful words which had been spat from his mouth, all the ghastly actions of his body; they were all repeating time and time again.

Words echoed in her head as various images of him flashed before her eyes. _You made me do it_. He had her pinned against the door. She couldn't breathe. _You're pathetic, Carla. You know that? You're pathetic_. His smug face, his smile bursting with amusement. _Do you fancy going for the hat-trick?_

But slowly other memories started creeping in. Memories of the same man, just months before. It started with controlling Frank; _Don't turn your phone off_. He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her to the side. _Where are you going? We have guests_. Why had she not seen it? How had she looked into his eyes and not seen the rage yearning to be freed? She should have abandoned ship when she had had the chance, before he had had a reason to destroy her. But no, the only person she knew then was loving Frank.

Sweet, caring Frank.

The Frank who bought her £500 handbags and didn't take advantage of her, even when she had sprawled herself across him in a drunken and provocative manner. Frank, her business partner. Frank, her boyfriend. Frankie, her fiancé.

She bowed her head in shame as she thought of how she'd watched him turn into the monster he had left this world as and not even noticed. A large tear escaped; it travelled down her cheek and lingered on her bottom lip but she made no attempt to wipe it away. That solitary tear was a symbol of so much; the pain he caused her, the love they once had, the understanding they once shared. This funeral wasn't just about putting the horrors he inflicted upon her in the past, but it was also a time to grieve for the man she had known who seemed just a distant memory now.

After all, that was the man Anne was grieving for. She was blissfully unaware of the monster her son had become. Suddenly, Anne rose from her seat at the front of the church and began to flee towards the exit, but when she got to Carla she stood still. Carla shifted uncomfortably under her gaze unsure about where this was heading. She didn't want a confrontation, not now.

'Thank you for not making a scene.' Anne's voice was so feeble, and it tugged at her heart strings. Despite the things she had said and done in the past, she was merely looking out for her child and she couldn't imagine how much she was hurting right now.

'I didn't come here to upset you' she reassured her. 'I came because...I didn't think...I should have to stay away. I haven't done anything wrong.' She braced herself for the torrent of insults which would usually come, but Anne didn't say a word. Carla knew carrying on would be risky, but she wasn't about to stop defending herself just because he was dead. 'Quite the opposite' she said.

Anne said nothing, but after a while she placed her hand on Carla's arm affectionately. It was as if burning coal had been placed on Carla's arm, and she flinched, her eyes on it wearily.

She looked up and saw the tears which brimmed in the woman's eyes. At first she saw pain, but when she looked a bit harder she saw...no, surely that couldn't be _pity_? Anne's struggle to find the right words was evident as she stammered quietly before deciding on two little words which said so much more.

'I'm sorry...'

As Carla exhaled her whole body sank slightly, as if the effort to breathe was just too large. As she did so, Anne looked at the poor, broken woman in front of her and she couldn't believe the mess Frank had left behind. She looked so vulnerable as she shrunk under her gaze and she could practically see the cogs whirring in her head as she tried to piece together the meaning of her words.

For one moment, the world just stopped and Carla had to pinch herself that this was true. This wasn't another of her dreams where everybody believed her and didn't tear into her as soon as they saw her, this was reality, and this _was_ happening.

The silence hung in the air, and the unspoken tension between the two women was stronger than ever. Anne tried to find the right words, but it was too painful and with a small shake of her head she walked out of the church.

Carla couldn't believe this was happening. Did she really mean what she thought she meant? Had she really known that she had been telling the truth all along? With Anne gone, Carla turned herself round the front in a trance-like state. Her eyes were glazed over, and the light reflected in the tears which still coated them.

Sally got up from her seat at the front of the church and ran to join Anne, but Carla barely registered the movement, too focused on her thoughts to take notice of her surroundings. Frank could have got out of the coffin and Carla still wouldn't have batted an eyelid.

She thought of all the times Anne had ripped into her for "lying" about her precious son; had she known then? What if she had known at the trial? She had just sat there, listening to her reliving the terrifying ordeal, and done nothing. Well, not nothing – she'd revealed her affair with Peter to taint her character! No, she can't have known at the trial...could she?

She must have known before Frank died though, because she had believed so strongly that nothing apart from cold, hard evidence would have changed her mind, which meant she would have known that day in the Rovers when she had torn into her the day she had been arrested.

Her head was swimming with so many thoughts which just didn't make sense. She got up too quickly, swaying a little as her vision blurred and her balance faltered. However, she continued walking towards the door, determined to find out what she had meant by those two tiny words..._I'm sorry_. Maria and Michelle followed behind, calling her name a few times but giving up when they realised that they weren't going to be blessed with a reply.

The frosty air hit her as she stepped outside the church. The soft, bitter wind bruised her face and the ice cold air cut its way down her throat. In the distance she saw Anne getting into the car and she leant against the wall of the church, her eyes fixated on the woman who had left her with so many unanswered questions.

But she was going to get the answers. If it was the last thing she did.


End file.
